Insomnia; and Other Disorders of Sleep

by Henry M. Lyman

The well-known experiments of Chossat, who found that the temperature of pigeons was from 0°.70 C. to 0°.90 C. higher at noon than at midnight, may not be considered satisfactory evidence of the depressing influence of sleep, because it is true that the diurnal variations of temperature which are conditioned by the vital activities of every animal might be sufficient to account for these differences. The experiments of Horvath[11] are more convincing. This observer found that the marmots upon which he experimented were accustomed to sleep during the winter for about four days continuously, and would then remain awake for an equal length of time. “During the sleeping period they can be cooled down to such a degree that a thermometer introduced into the rectum to the depth of an inch and a half indicated only 3°F. above the freezing point. The temperature rose rapidly after the animal awoke, so that in the course of an hour it was 3°F. higher; at the close of the second hour 9°F. higher, and at the end of the next half hour about 27°F. * * Neither respiration nor the muscular movements were correspondingly augmented.” This observation clearly shows the powerful influence of cerebral activity upon the liberation of heat within the body.

Secretion.—The functions of the numerous glands throughout the body are diminished during sleep. The tears dry up, and the cornea receives less moisture. Hence the stickiness of the margins of the eyelids during the sleep of a patient suffering with conjunctivitis. He can open his eyes, on awaking, only after sufficient time has elapsed to revive the lachrymal flow. Exner[12] remarks the diminution of pathological secretion in nasal catarrh during the hours of sleep. The mouth in like manner ceases to receive its full quota of saliva, and its cavity quickly dries if the lips remain open. The secretions of the gastro-intestinal glands vary with the contents of the alimentary canal; but in general they are considerably diminished, and digestion is correspondingly retarded during the hours of sleep. The quantity of urine is lessened during sleep.[13] The elimination of urea and of other excrementitious matters is less during the night than by day.[14] Unless increased by disease, or by accidental circumstances connected with atmospheric temperature and unnecessary clothing, the perspiration is also diminished.

Nutrition.—All the molecular processes of nutrition are reduced by sleep. The lowering of the bodily temperature has been already indicated. The observations of Helmholtz[15] indicate that the actual liberation of heat in the tissues is but little more than one-third of the amount set free in an equal period of time during the waking hours. The numerous experiments[16] of Boussingault, Henneberg, Scharling, E. Smith, Liebermeister, Pettenkofer, Voit, and Lewin, clearly indicate the fact that during sleep less oxygen is absorbed, and less carbonic acid gas is discharged, by the tissues. Voit found that while, during the daytime, 435 grammes of oxygen were taken in by a working man, only 326 grammes were needed by the same individual during the nocturnal half of the day. Artificial sleep occasioned by chloral hydrate produced a similar reduction in the consumption of oxygen and in the formation of carbonic acid gas. Under the influence of morphine the reduction of CO_2. reached 27 per cent., and the diminution of oxygen amounted to 34 per cent. of the quantities furnished during wakeful activity. The comparatively small reduction (only 6 per cent.) in the decomposition of the nitrogenous elements of the body during the same period, exhibits the close relation between the metamorphosis of the non-nitrogenous elements of the tissues and the amount of bodily activity.

The experiments of Pettenkofer and Voit, to which allusion has just been made, serve also to illustrate the fact that all tissue changes are increased by every excitement of the sensory organs of the body, but are diminished by the subsidence of peripheral irritations. Hence the importance of quiet and darkness when we seek to induce that state of the body in which molecular processes should reach their minimum. Since every act of perception is attended by an outburst of refuse matter from the nervous tissue, the quantity of such excrementitious discharge in any given period of time becomes in some sort a measure of the vital activity of the organism. Conclusive proof of the diminution of vital function during sleep is thus obtained.

It must not, however, be inferred that the general reduction of tissue-change, which has thus been established, during the hours of sleep, is evidence of a universal and uniform reduction of function throughout the body. Sleep seldom falls at once with equal force upon every organ; its invasion is progressive. Consequently, certain structures may be fast asleep, while others are partly awake,—while still other portions of the organism may be in a condition of activity greatly in excess of their ordinary wakeful function. Upon this fact depend the phenomena of dreams and the various forms of somnambulism. The special senses are usually overcome by sleep before the muscular apparatus yields, and the cerebro-spinal nervous centres are the last of all to succumb. The eyes, for example, cease to see clearly before the eyelids droop, or the muscles of the neck give way in the act of nodding. The senses of touch and of taste fail next in order, as in the case of the infant gourmand, who may be seen falling asleep at supper,—his mouth yet filled with untasted sweets from the table before him. The sense of smell is more persistent, and its exercise is sometimes an obstacle to the invasion of sleep. Witness the effect of powerful odors upon certain persons. The perfume of flowering plants in the sleeping chamber is sometimes decidedly annoying on this account. A lady of my acquaintance was once awakened out of a sound sleep by the smell of tobacco smoke from the pipe of a thoughtless burglar who had quietly entered a distant apartment of the house. A sudden change of wind, deluging a city with the vapors of a glue-factory or rendering establishment, may in like manner disturb the slumbers of thousands of people.

The sense of hearing seems to be the most persistent of all the special senses. It is not a very uncommon thing for persons to be awakened by the sound of their own snoring; or, if not actually aroused by the noise, to remain in a condition of repose which seems to be sustained and cheered by the regular rhythm of its own music. As a general rule, however, it is noteworthy that, when not wholly dormant, each sense finds its sphere of activity greatly narrowed by the fact of sleep. Consequently the range of perception, if not wholly obliterated, is greatly limited during the time of sleep.

While it is true that sleep arrests the voluntary activities of the muscles, it is also a fact that all the muscles do not yield at once or in equal degree. The extensors of the neck, and the supporters of the spinal column, are the first to fail. The patient begins to nod, and is inclined to fall forward, before consciousness ceases. The muscles of respiration and of circulation continue to contract, though at a diminished rate. The vermicular movements of the intestinal coats persist, and in certain conditions of ill-health their exaggerated contractions may become a cause of imperfect repose. Reflex movements may always be excited during natural sleep. Tickling the sole of the foot will cause retraction of the limb; and before the complete establishment of sleep, a certain exaltation of the spinal reflexes may be observed. Young children may frequently be seen in the act of suction with their lips, as if at the breast; and the smile of the sleeping infant is a matter of daily remark in every nursery. The influence of dreams as an excitant of muscular movement will be hereafter discussed.

The variation of intellectual function which appears in sleep serves to measure its profundity and to indicate the extent of its invasion. The act of perception being dependent upon sensation, it is to be observed that the range of perception diminishes so soon as the organs of sense begin to yield. Its intensity may not immediately fail, but the breadth of its scope is narrowed. Sometimes, however, the act of conscious perception is arrested before the organs of sense are sealed. The sleepy reader may continue to eye the page before him, perhaps even to read aloud for a considerable time after he has ceased to derive any meaning from the words of the book. In such cases the organs of perception and conception and association of ideas slumber before the bonds of connection between the will and the muscular organs have been completely relaxed. Such an example affords a valuable illustration of the division of the brain into separate mechanisms which, though most intimately related, are nevertheless partially independent of each other. Sleep may operate like an invasive disease, falling with unequal incidence upon the different structures that make up the mass of the brain, paralyzing one portion, while simply benumbing another, and even arousing to excessive activity a third. Consequently the intellectual functions may be very unequally disturbed, and the order of their subsidence may be considerably varied; but, as a general rule, the physiological relations of the faculties are respected, so that as sensation diminishes, perception fails, the conception of ideas is correspondingly hindered, and the association of such ideas as are still projected upon the field of consciousness becomes more imperfect. The loss of the power of association implies the destruction of memory and the impossibility of exercising the reasoning faculty or of forming those judgments upon which every act of volition is based. When the brain has at length been so far overwhelmed that physical impressions can no longer reach the field of consciousness, all manifestation of intellectual life is at an end, and the sleeper sleeps a dreamless sleep that leaves no trace behind.

It is assumed in the last sentence that the brain may become so far transformed by sleep that it ceases for the time to be capable of function as the instrument of thought. This conclusion has been questioned by the very highest authorities. Sir William Hamilton, Exner, and many others have instituted numerous experiments to test the possibility of a dreamless sleep. Causing themselves to be suddenly aroused at all hours of the night, they invariably found themselves at the instant of awaking occupied with the course of a dream. Hence it has been inferred that the mind is always alert, even when the body is most thoroughly asleep. In explanation of the fact that consciousness contains after deep sleep no trace of such mental activity, it is claimed that the act of dreaming of which we are aware at the moment of waking is proof of intellectual function during the moments which preceded that incident, and that we are merely forgetful of all similar processes that occurred during undisturbed sleep. The unconsciousness of sleep, according to this theory, is not real—it is only apparent through failure of the memory. If this be true, memory is the only intellectual faculty of whose inaction we can be sure. The period of deep sleep might then be, for all we know to the contrary, a period of the most intense and exalted mental activity. But, if so, it is quite worthless as a constituent of our conscious existence. It may also be objected with equal reason that the dreams which unquestionably occupy the field of consciousness at the instant of waking are probably excited by the impressions which terminate sleep. The process of waking, though often very greatly hurried, is by no means absolutely instantaneous. As we shall learn, the time requisite for the evolution of a dream may be indefinitely brief. Consequently, it seems better in all such instances to assign the period of dreaming to the time of diminishing slumber that corresponds to the disturbance by which sleep was terminated.

The only reason for any hesitation in the acceptance of such a proposition consists in the reluctance of many philosophers to admit the possibility of any interruption in the active life of a spiritual being, such as man is conceived to be. But it is difficult to comprehend any valid reason for the denial of such interruption. Every form of force, of which we have any knowledge, is subject to fluctuations in the course of its phenomenal manifestation. When a physical force ceases to exhibit itself in an active state, and passes into a potential modification, we are not compelled to regard it as extinguished. It is merely latent or inhibited, but always ready to take its place again among the kinetic forces of nature. In like manner there seems to be no good reason why that spiritual force or congeries of forces which constitutes the mind of man may not experience analogous transformations in successive periods of action and of repose. Such periods of rest occur in sleep, in coma, in disease and disorganization of the brain. The mind sleeps, it does not cease to exist—probably not even when death dissolves its material substratum.